


Isolation

by NervousAsexual



Series: Whumptober 2020 [8]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Blood Loss, Illnesses, Isolation, Pre-Canon, Whump, arrow wound, informal surgery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-08 05:09:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26980090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NervousAsexual/pseuds/NervousAsexual
Summary: Mercer Frey wouldn't ask for help to save his life, which was exactly why Brynjolf did it.
Relationships: Brynjolf & Mercer Frey, implied Gallus/Karliah/Mercer Frey, or Brynjolf/Mercer Frey if you really want it
Series: Whumptober 2020 [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1960987
Comments: 3
Kudos: 4
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Isolation

**Author's Note:**

> Whumptober prompt #11--isolation

The thud jolted Brynjolf out of a sleep too sound. He started upright in bed, reaching for his dagger, and his eyes focused into the darkness to exchange glances with Delvin and Tonilia.

"Sounds like it come from the warrens," Delvin said.

Brynjolf drew his blade and moved silently to the door. Vex was still out on a job, but if that noise were her there was trouble.

He stepped carefully into the hall and found the door to the warrens standing open. Crumpled before it lay a figure in guild leathers.

"Vex?" he asked carefully, crouching down to peer under the hood. There was movement and then his eyes met a pair of pale blue looking back. "Mercer?"

Mercer Frey struggled to raise himself on one arm. The other clutched at his side, damp with something dark. "Gallus," he croaked. "Dead."

"What are you talking about?" Tonilia was at his side now. She pulled his hand away and the lantern closer. "What happened?"

"Karliah betrayed us." Mercer's weight came to rest against Brynjolf's thigh. Despite the chill in the air he was drenched in sweat. "Gallus is dead." He raised his eyes again to Brynjolf. "She killed him. Shot me." His hand slipped into the leather strap that crossed the front of Brynjolf's armor and held on.

Tonilia peeled back the layers of his armor and now Brynjolf could make out the gruesome wound just above his hipbone. The head of the arrow was buried deep inside him and the shaft had been snapped off near his flesh. When Tonilia gave the arrow an experimental wiggle Mercer strangled a moan. His boots scuffed against the stone floor, struggling for leverage.

"Sorry," Tonilia said, though she didn't appear sorry. "Delvin, bring me the strongest alcohol you can find. And get that damn alchemist. Time for him to earn his keep. Let's see if we can't get him out in the Flagon where the light's a little better," she added to Brynjolf.

As they pulled him upright Mercer groaned softly. "Where'd all this happen?" Brynjolf asked him.

"Winterhold." He was an uneven weight, weaving between them. "The ruins. I had to leave him."

"Lay down on that table there." Tonilia deposited her share of the weight unceremoniously onto Brynjolf and went around behind the bar. Mercer stiffened, and not only from pain.

"It has to come out," Brynjolf told him quietly.

Mercer ground his teeth but it was obviously the truth. He let Brynjolf put an arm around his shoulders and ease him down onto his back.

Their guild armor was complex and new members often struggled to put it on and take it off, but Tonilia pulled a few straps and buckles and it fell loose. Beneath Mercer was drenched in coagulated blood. The leather had to be lifted gently over the remaining inches of the arrow shaft. Mercer's face contorted as she did so.

"You rode clear from Winterhold like this?" Tonilia asked, eyebrow raised. Beyond her Delvin returned with this alchemist.

"Did... agh!... what I had to do." Mercer closed his eyes as Tonilia pushed him farther onto the table, angling the wound toward the overhead lantern. When the alchemist tried to press an unmarked vial to his lips he jerked his head away. "Don't need that."

Tonilia rolled her eyes. "I've dug plenty of arrows out of plenty of thieves, some of them tougher than you. Trust me on this--you do."

Mercer's head jerked and he looked up at Brynjolf. Neither man spoke, but after a moment Mercer gave a quiet sigh. He let the alchemist hold the vial to his lips, and Brynjolf watched the movement in his slender throat as he swallowed the deep blue liquid.

For a minute nothing happened. Tonilia took the bottle of alcohol from Delvin, popped the cork, and took a deep swig. The alchemist retreated to a nearby table to watch. Delvin went to check the warrens for a blood trail, and Brynjolf just watched it all. Slowly, though, it became clear that the potion was working. A tension that had been almost invisible before now proved itself as it vanished, leaving the thief's body slack and his breathing deeper, slower. Tonilia spoke his name, garnered no response, and touched the wound to much of the same.

"Already?" The alchemist chuckled and poured himself a tankard of mead. "Must've lost a lot of blood, that one."

"Shut up," Tonilia told him. She took out a knife and cut the wound a little wider before slipping a finger in alongside the arrowhead.

Brynjolf went back behind the bar and found a bottle of ale. The bottle itself slipped around in his grasp, leaving streaks of blood where his fingers had been. He opened the bottle anyway and after a few swallows his hands stopped shaking.

Behind them the false back of the wardrobe opened. Vex emerged, holding a very ornate horn in her hand. She took in Tonilia, Mercer, the blood. "Must've been some party."

Tonilia deposited the arrowhead and broken shaft onto Mercer's chest. "He says Karliah betrayed us. Killed Gallus."

"And you believe him?"

"He didn't shoot himself, if that's what you mean."

"It's not." Vex dropped the horn onto the bar. She glanced at Brynjolf. "He's your friend. Could he be wrong?"

"He wouldn't have left Gallus if there were any chance he was still alive."

"And the dark elf? You really think she killed the old man?"

"Mercer wouldn't lie."

"I'm not saying that. I'm saying people with arrows sticking out of them don't always see things very clearly."

Brynjolf let his eyes rest on the motionless form on the table. "If anyone would see it would be him."

Vex nodded. "We'll have to see if she comes back, see what she has to say for herself."

"Well that's just fine, but what are we going to do with him?" Tonilia tossed the knife onto the table and jerked her head toward Mercer.

Brynjolf turned sharply to look at her. "What does that mean?"

"It means once he starts coming around again nobody's going to be sleeping." Vex looked up at the stone of the Flagon for a moment. "If you really think Gallus is dead, why not put him in his bed? Probably wouldn't be the first time."

"Good enough." Tonilia wiped her hands on the washrag the alchemist tossed her. "It's somebody else's turn to move him. I'm gonna clean up and go back to bed."

Vex immediately made herself scarce. Brynjolf looked over to the alchemist and he too bowed out. Tonilia sighed in irritation.

"Fine," she said. "I guess I'll help if you give me a moment to clean up."

"Go to bed," he told her. "He isn't that heavy."

He lifted Mercer like he would have lifted a bride, trying not to irritate the wound too much. The weight of him was dead but warm, and he smelled of the sharp tang of blood. He didn't move, not even when Brynjolf dropped him on what had been Gallus' bed.

The philter kept him out for over an hour. He was slow to come back around and Brynjolf debated whether or not to fetch the alchemist.

For a long time he was quiet, but soon enough Mercer was restless. His breath quickened and he tried to raise his head before he was conscious enough to hold it up. Brynjolf pulled a chair up and sat beside him. Each time Mercer tried to raise himself up Brynjolf gently but firmly pressed him back down.

When Mercer opened his eyes and turned them to Brynjolf they were blurred and red with unshed tears.

Brynjolf kept a hand on his shoulder, just in case he tried to get up again. "How're you feelin'?"

Mercer raised a hand to the wound in his side and winced. "Worse," he whispered hoarsely.

"I can believe that."

After that Mercer again fell silent, eyes drifting shut, body limp against what had been the guildmaster's bed. Brynjolf left him to rest and returned to his own bed for the night.

In the morning he found Mercer rubbing some sort of ointment into the wound. His face was still pale and drawn, and he seemed to struggle to keep his head off the pillow.

"I can do it," he snapped as Brynjolf took the jar from him.

"I'm sure you can, Merce. Seems like I'd have an easier time seeing what I'm doing, though."

Mercer glared at him but said nothing. Brynjolf scooped a handful of the cold cream from the jar and gently touched the heavy stitches on the wound.

At the touch the muscles in his belly spasmed and Mercer's face contorted. His fingers dug deep into the furs. Brynjolf didn't move but didn't pull away as he tried to calm himself. Even beneath the chill of the ointment he could feel how warm the wound was burning.

"Gods," Mercer groaned.

"I can get you some mead. Might numb you a little."

"No." Mercer drew one shaking breath after the other. "Just get it over with."

So Brynjolf gently circled the wound with just the tips of his fingers. Mercer looked up at the ceiling, his breath ragged but incredibly focused.

"You really rode all the way from Winterhold with an arrow in you?" Brynjolf glanced down at Mercer's shaking hands and just as quickly glanced away.

"Wasn't gonna walk back."

Brynjolf wiped his hands on his armor.

"I thought for sure she'd beat me back here." Mercer pressed his wrist to his forehead. The expression on his face grew strained. "I cut her horse and Gallus' loose but I didn't think she..." Eyes heavy, he sagged back against the bed. "By the time I hit Shor's Stone I figured I'd be bled out anyway."

Brynjolf eyed his still trembling hands. "You sure you don't want something? Brandy?"

Mercer shook his head. "It's nothing. Just... just cold."

"Brandy might help with that, too."

"I said I'm fine."

The shaking didn't stop. It didn't let up. His eyes were dull and ringed with black, and Mercer's breathing came quick and shallow. His entire body trembled. When Brynjolf pulled the furs back over him he winced. "You're not lookin' fine."

"Thanks a lot."

"You know what I mean."

"I look damned good for taking an arrow to the guts."

Brynjolf chuckled, shaking his head. "I guess I can't argue with that." He watched as Mercer writhed uncomfortably. "Move over."

"W-what?" Mercer tried to raise his head but Brynjolf was already nudging him aside and slipping under the furs beside him. "Get out of my bed!"

"You're not in your bed," Brynjolf reminded him. He moved himself in close and put an arm across Mercer's chest.

"Someone will see."

"They're gonna have to come through the cistern door or the cabinet door. If I hear 'em coming I'll move."

Mercer sighed. His head tipped down to bump against Brynjolf's.

"Want me to ditch the armor? We can share body heat."

"Shut up," Mercer mumbled. He was still shivering.

"Mm."

When he dozed the shaking in Mercer's body stopped. Brynjolf watched him sleep, his eyes moving behind bruised, blackened lids, almost opening from time to time. When he did finally wake he tried, once again, to lift his head before he could hold it up. Brynjolf gently pressed his head back down, and Mercer's eyes opened just enough to see him.

"Welcome back, sunshine."

Mercer groaned and shifted a bit, turning toward the ceiling. "Karliah...?"

"Nothin' yet. It's looking like she's got whatever it was she wanted." Beside him Mercer's body had begun to tremble again. "They're gonna ask you for the whole story, you know."

"And? You think I can't give it to them?"

"It's not that. They'll ask what the three of you were doing. What are you going to tell them?"

"I don't..." Mercer shifted uneasily.

"Ah. One of those, eh? Even if Gallus is dead and Karliah is gone?"

He nodded.

"Shoulda guessed."

Mercer tried again to raise up on his elbows. "What'd they do with my armor?"

"Not sure. I'll get it for ya. Need anything else?"

He winced. "Something to drink?"

"Mead or brandy?" When Mercer gave him a frown he laughed. "You milkdrinker. I'll head up and see if Marise has anything. Sit tight."

He left Mercer lying back on the bed, pulling the furs tighter around him.

"How's he doing?" Tonilia asked when he came out into the Flagon.

"Not dead, so that's something." He thought of Mercer struggling to get up before he was ready. "He's pretty wiped out, though."

"Sounds about right." Tonilia glanced over her shoulder and Brynjolf saw that though the place had been cleaned the table was still stained with blood.

"Did he tell you anything else?" Vex came out of the back room. "Like why the dark elf would kill her guild leader and take off?"

"Lover's spat?" Delvin suggested from the bar, and when everyone turned to stare at him, "What? We all knowed it."

"So why bring Frey into it?" Delvin snorted, and Tonilia glared at him. "Yeah, yeah, three in a bed. But there must have been something she got out of this. She's not the type to act on impulse."

"Would've been easier to take them out one at a time, too." Vex leaned up against the fireplace.

"He hasn't said much. He's only been awake five, ten minutes."

"But he is awake."

Brynjolf shrugged.

"Might be time to get some answers, then." She pushed off the fireplace and headed for the cistern doorway. "Come on."

Tonilia followed behind her, but Delvin just came up beside Brynjolf and elbowed him in the ribs.

"What?"

"Nothin'. Absolutely nothin.'"

"Mmhm." Brynjolf watched him go before slipping out into the Ratway.

When he came back, jug of milk in hand, they were still in with Mercer. He looked exhausted, even more than he had when Brynjolf had left him. It seemed to be a struggle to keep his eyes open and his head at least slightly raised.

"You think she left the body behind?" Vex asked.

Mercer shrugged one shoulder.

"Maybe some of us better ride up and get him. Take a look at the body if nothing else."

"If you can."

Vex folded her arms. "You think she's still there? Why? What would that get her?"

"Not that. If you can get into the barrow. Never saw a lock like that before. Don't know how she got it opened."

"Yeah, well, you never were that great of a lockpick."

"Ain't his fault," Delvin said. "Not everybody has your talent."

"You'd think the one Gallus was grooming for his successor would."

"Give me time." Mercer's voice was soft. "I'll get there."

Vex rolled her eyes.

"I'll get Vekel," Tonilia said. "That way if she's still there you have backup, or somebody to absorb arrows, at least." She glanced down at Mercer. "No offense. You're too small to shrug them off."

Mercer just looked at her.

"Didn't grill ya too badly, I hope." Brynjolf watched them file back into the Flagon before putting the jug of milk down on the bedside table.

"Mm." Mercer let his head tip back on the pillow. He was shaking again.

"You need me to fetch the alchemist? You're looking rough."

"Just cold."

"Now, somehow I just don't believe that."

The only sound was Mercer's soft panting.

"You just had an arrow cut out of your belly, Merce. Nobody's gonna begrudge you something to numb the pain."

"I don't want anything."

"Didn't ask what you wanted. I asked what you need."

"Got to stay focused. Can't... can't get distracted."

"Why? You're not in Winterhold. You're here, in the Flagon, surrounded by friends. She's not going to get through to you."

"And how do you know that?" Speaking seemed to take a lot out of Mercer; his voice sounded slurred and emotionless, like he wasn't sure what he was saying. "She knows how to get around the Ratway. She can make herself disappear. How easy would it be for her to slip in through the warrens..."

"Then we'll keep an eye on the warrens." Brynjolf gingerly lowered himself to sit on the bed beside him. "You're not in this alone."

"Yeah. I am."

"You're not. Now, do you want help drinking this milk I went out to buy for you or not?"

Mercer screwed up his face as if in pain. When he looked up at Brynjolf there were tears in his eyes.

"I know you're scared. I would be too. I am, actually. So's everybody else. But there's nothing you can do like this." There was a chill to the Flagon air, more so than usual. "Put it this way. You can get your healing done now, by choice, or you can put it off 'til you can't anymore and you won't get a choice."

"I..." Mercer's voice broke. He closed his eyes and turned his head away.

"We've got your back. I've got your back. Just tell me what you need."

"Something to drink."

"Alright. Let's get you sat up." Under the furs Mercer was still freezing, but he winced when Brynjolf touched his back. "Sorry. Hands are probably cold." Together they got him shifted up against the headboard and Brynjolf filled a tankard from the milk jug. His steady hands stayed on Mercer's shaking ones as he drank. "Sure you don't want me to get the alchemist? It don't have to be like this."

Mercer shook his head. "Keep him away from me."

That much he could do.

When Brynjolf explained the symptoms to the alchemist, the old man nodded. "Sounds like ataxia. That's what he gets for crawling around in tombs."

"But what can we do for it?"

"If he's keeping things down I have a potion he could try. Payment due up front, of course. Nothing against you or him, lad, but I'm not a charity."

"How much?"

"A hundred septims."

Brynjolf winced. A day or two of work, and Mercer would not be working anytime soon. "I'll front for him." He counted out the septims and dropped them onto the alchemy table. "And a little extra for whatever it was you gave him before Tonilia took the arrow out. That about cover it?"

Without a word the alchemist dug around in a crate of potions until he turned up a plain curing potion. He tossed it to Brynjolf.

Tonilia saw the potion in his hand as he came back. "What'd he charge for that?"

"Hundred septims."

"Satakal, he's a bigger crook than the rest of us. Elgrim's probably had ten of 'em for half that."

"Too late now."

He found Mercer had slid down to lay flat on the bed. The shivering hadn't subsided, so he knew he was still awake.

"Here." He put the bottle onto the bed beside him. "Least get you to stop shaking for a minute."

Mercer glanced at the bottle for a moment before looking back to the ceiling. "I didn't ask you for that."

"Yeah, turns out I don't care what you asked for. Sorry about that." He nodded at the bottle. "Drink it or I'll pour it down your damn fool throat myself."

A snarl twisted Mercer's face for a moment. He pushed himself back up against the wall and took the bottle. The cork didn't come out easily and he twisted it, still got nowhere, took the cork in his mouth and twisted, and this time bit off a mouthful of cork.

"You want me to get that for you? Might be easier for me--I still got all my blood in me."

"Very funny." He took a knife from the table and stabbed it into the remaining cork. It took a needlessly long time but he pried the bottle open. "You don't owe me anything. I don't know why you're still hanging around."

"Because we're friends?" He waited as Mercer took a few swallows, stopped for breath, and finished the bottle. "And I'd want you to do the same to me if I was the one that got shot."

Shaking his head but smiling, Mercer handed the bottle back and rested his head against the wall. "Except you wouldn't get shot in the first place because you're not a taffing moron who let himself get pulled into..."

Brynjolf carefully sat down beside him. "You're not a moron, Mercer."

"It was my mistake." His eyes stayed fixed on a spot across the room. "I let them... let her talk me into thinking we were more than thieves. Like a damned idiot." His hands played idly with the bear pelt on the bed. "And now here I am in _his_ bed, pretending I have any right to run _his_ guild, when the very first thing I did as guildmaster is leave his body in some draugr-infested ruin and crawl back here to pass out on a tavern table."

Voices echoed from the Flagon, quick and quiet and tense. Somebody started to raise their voice and the others quickly shushed them.

"I know what they say about me. About why Gallus chose me."

"You don't know what they say. He chose you because you're a good thief with a head for business. He is... was a good judge of character. He knew you'd be a good leader."

Mercer gave a soft, short laugh and gestured at the wound on his side. "Obviously not too good a judge of character."

"You know that's not what I mean."

"I should've known she..."

"She had us all snowed, even Vex. And you know Vex don't like nobody but herself."

"I was her partner."

"Yeah, in one way. Gallus was sleeping with her. No offense, but he saw a lot more of her than you did and he still trusted her."

"You think so, huh?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing." Mercer pushed himself to the edge of the bed and hunched over his wound, then staggered to his feet. "You find my armor yet?"

"I take it back, you are a moron. Lay down before you fall down."

Mercer took a few shaky steps toward the trunk in the back of the room. "I need a shirt. And some shoes."

"What you need is the common sense the gods gave a cave bear. Get back in bed."

"I'm not going far." Mercer stopped to lean against the table, his pale face tipped up to the lamp. "Just the training room."

"What?"

"You heard what Vex said. What kind of guildmaster can't pick locks?"

"Now ain't the time to be practicing." Brynjolf came over to him and touched the back of his wrist to Mercer's forehead. "Divines. You're burning up."

"I've had worse."

"And if I'd been there I woulda thrown you in bed then, too. Lay down, close your eyes, get some sleep, or I'm gonna knock you over the head with a chair."

"I have to..."

Brynjolf put a hand on the back of the nearest chair. Mercer gave him a watery smile and ducked his head, shaking. "I'll get your damned armor. Just give it a rest already."

"I can do it myself."

"Sure you can. Lay down."

"I need to..." He swallowed heavily. "Brynjolf, I don't want you to..."

"Mercer, do me a favor. Let somebody help you." When Mercer tried to look away he moved to keep eye contact. "Doesn't have to be me. I'll get Tonilia if you want; she has a better idea what she's doing anyhow. But don't kill yourself trying to do this alone."

Mercer's eyes closed tightly and his face contorted into a grimace. His hands were so white they were nearly blue where they clutched the edge of the table.

"I'm sorry about Karliah. I'm so sorry about Gallus. But I can't change what happened and neither can you. Let's get the present settled before we worry about the past. Alright?"

Mercer's shoulders slumped, his entire body closing in on itself. He nodded. Brynjolf put an arm around his shoulders and gently herded him back to Gallus' bed. He curled on his side when he lowered him down.

"I'll get your armor. I'll be right back."

Tonilia had dumped the blood-saturated armor in a basket of garbage to be dumped but said nothing when Brynjolf dug it back out and wiped the other garbage off it. He carried it back to the room behind the wardrobe and hung it carefully from Gallus' night table. Mercer watched as he came in, eyes heavy, but when he saw the armor he visibly relaxed.

"Thank you," he mumbled as Brynjolf slid under the furs.

"Any time, Merce." He slipped his arm under Mercer's shoulders and, with no objections, lay the other arm across his chest. "Anytime."


End file.
